


Bringing Something

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Act I, Alcohol as an escape, And Handling It Poorly, Angst, Deep Roads, Dragon Age Quest: The Deep Roads Expedition, Grief/Mourning, Hawke Family Feels, Hawke Is Not The One Handling It Poorly, M/M, Mage!Hawke - Freeform, Rumors, Spirit Healer Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8208185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Fenris deals with being left behind as Hawke goes on the Deep Roads Expedition.





	

Fenris heard from Hawke’s guard friend, Aveline, that Hawke had left for the Deep Roads. Without him.

He paced the length of the rooms in his stolen mansion, upset and, even more, upset that he was upset. Was he angry that he hadn’t been informed? Yes. But why? It wasn’t as if he was one of Hawke’s closest allies. He himself had allowed the distance between them to increase. Though he hadn’t seen anything in the man that reminded him of Danarius and his cohorts (besides the magic, always the magic), he couldn’t help but wonder if it was all a trap. And so he’d waited to see Hawke’s next move.

Apparently, that next move was to move on from him entirely. Could he trust that the man had truly meant to help him? How could he, when he wasn’t even privy to the most important of Hawke’s steps in life?

That was unfair, however, and he knew it. His anger did not stem from anything Hawke had done. No. Hawke had given him time, space. Had offered him help. His fury was solely within himself, caused by the very person it attacked. Why, he wondered for the thousandth time, was he unable to accept what he saw in the man?

Mages were not healers. Though they could, there was always something more in it. For Anders, it stemmed from a desire to become something he was not. To deny his demonic heritage, perhaps to act as a salve for his own wounds. A way to pretend he was not a monster.

Why, then, did Hawke choose to heal? Was he, too, fighting against something from his past? Something he was? Or did he rightly fear his magic and not trust himself with its true potential? What made Hawke turn to healing when he could easily destroy?

He well remembered the moment Hawke had pulled on his magic to create a lightning storm above a dragon’s head. It had been made during the battle, formed for the very first time from nothing more than the man’s will. How many other spells had the man cast simply because he knew it was needed? How much had he learned without any proper training? His magic should clunk. There should be holes in it. Instead Fenris saw it roll smoothly from form to form, always almost dancing in the man’s hands. How? And how much more powerful would he become?

If Hawke ever turned to blood magic, he would be a beast beyond compare.

That concern had turned Fenris from him. Yet now, when he was free of the man’s influence, free to live without worry of what Hawke’s power may bring, he found himself worried all over again, for something worse. He found his mind turning to the same question over and over again: what would happen to him? Was Hawke safe, deep under the ground, heading toward creatures the man himself had admitted fearing? Would he turn to blood magic down there, trapped against a horde of such enemies? Or would he refuse and die?

Would the outcome be any different if Fenris were there, as well?

He stopped his mindless pacing and stared heatedly into the flames of the fireplace. They hissed and sparked as he watched. Hawke had chosen to go with his brother, the mage, and the dwarf. The man who helped lead the expedition, the man with the most know-how of the Deep Roads, and his brother. Fenris had not known the family long, but even he could see how Hawke catered to his sibling. Likely the younger Hawke had insisted, and Hawke had caved to his demands. Of course, his brother also had previous experience with darkspawn. But then, so had the guardswoman. Why not choose her? She seemed better suited; the young Hawke was too over-eager; he rushed into battle too quickly, thought tactically too little. The guardswoman would have been a much wiser choice. If he could figure it out, he held little doubt Hawke hadn’t realized the same.

“This is ridiculous,” he said to himself, then grimaced when he realized he’d spoken aloud. He covered his mouth with his hand, pulled his lips back from his teeth. It was time to work off this offending energy. He grabbed his greatsword and stepped outside.

* * *

Almost two weeks after the time the expedition had been expected to return, two men finally arrived. Fenris heard about it in the tavern, sitting away from Isabela, who had also been left behind, and trying to ignore the churning in his gut that had made its home several days before. Two men had burst into the building, laughing and clapping each other on the back. Fenris had hardly taken notice of them, save to note that they both had swords and far too much exuberance for the Lowtown bar.

But then, as the two stood by the barkeep swigging their drinks, he heard the words “expedition” and “Tethras,” and suddenly he was all ears.

“Keep ‘em coming! We got paid good! Extra for the danger, too. Poor bastard lost his own brother in those caves.”

Fenris stood, his heart suddenly pounding up in his throat. What? What had happened down there? Why were these two men back when Fenris hadn’t seen a single sign of Hawke?

“Excuse me.” Isabela tapped on one man’s shoulder, butting in between the two of them with a jutting hip against the side of the bar. “I couldn’t help but here you had an adventure?” The man she looked at smiled widely at her interest. The other, behind her, had his gaze glued to her ass. Fenris sighed and sat back down, letting Isabela handle getting information. “Sounds exciting. Wanna share the story?”

The man looking at her ass guffawed. “Sure.”

His friend leaned against the bar, as well, resting an elbow and puffing out his chest. Isabela batted her eyes. “We went to the Deep Roads. You heard of the expedition headed by the Tethras brothers?”

Isabela nodded. “I have. You were on that?”

Her impressed tone got him leaning forward. “Yep. We went as guards, and let me tell you, getting out wasn’t easy. The darkspawn were comin’ back, and we’d already lost our main guards. Tethras was the only one o’ those guys to come out alive. You’re looking at two o’ the few survivors.”

Fenris hissed out a breath. The world spun. Why did it spin? He hardly knew Hawke.

He clenched his eyes shut and swigged down the rest of his drink. It burned. Everything in him burned.

“More,” he ordered the instant the waitress walked past his seat. She took a single look at him and hurried off as bade.

He hardly heard as Isabela grilled the fools for more information. The world shifted into muted focus, spinning down to the loss. For the first time in a very, very long time – since he’d been with the Fog Warriors, in fact – he’d felt safe. Despite Hawke’s magic, the man had always been behind Fenris, ensuring he came out of a battle unscathed. Without knowing anything about him, save that Fenris had used him, Hawke had agreed to help Fenris hunt down Danarius. After Fenris showed him nothing but suspicion and manipulation, Hawke had sworn to help Fenris in the event that Danarius ever showed.

Now, once again, that feeling of safety had been ripped away. Fenris was once more on his own.

“We didn’t see it happen. Only the boss did. Apparently they all found some treasure right before a cave-in. Man, we heard some thunderous noises, too. Screaming. I don’t think the cave-in was naturally made, you know?” The man’s voice lowered. “Darkspawn. They’re what did it. Killed the bastard’s brother dead under his own stone.”

The instant the drink was placed on the table, he swigged the glass empty once more. With far less grace than usual, he stood from the table and marched over to the two men. Isabela caught sight of him. Her eyes went wide.

Only one of the men – the one Isabela had been speaking with – noticed him, and it was just as Fenris’ fist smashed into his jaw. The man smacked against the bar and crumpled to the ground on a pained cry. His buddy shouted in outrage, only to still when Fenris turned his eye on him. “Guards?” he sneered. “To bring so few people home – you aren’t worthy of the title.”

“Wha…” The man he’d punched raised a hand to his lip and wiped at the blood. It smeared across his chin and jaw. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He reared up, and Fenris raised his fists, ready, thrumming for a fight. But Isabela caught the guard’s fist before the fight could even start, and Fenris was left furious and floundering.

“Perhaps,” Isabela said coldly, “you should think a little more about what it might mean to others to hear the deaths of those they care for spoken of so callously.” She flashed her daggers. “You should probably turn in for the night.”

A few others watched the proceedings with tense shoulders. For a ridiculous moment, Fenris thought they might be upset about Hawke’s death. But no, they likely knew only Varric Tethras. He’d heard plenty about the man from those around the tavern over the past weeks.

Hawke. Hawke was gone forever. No more awkward smiles or earnest concern. Isabela had said something about caring for someone. He stumbled back, even as Isabela took charge of the two men she’d been seducing information from just minutes before. The barkeep just sighed and cleaned a glass, keeping safely away from them all.

Fenris backed away, toward the door. Cared for. Cared for? Had he truly allowed himself to start thinking of Hawke as a friend? He was still being chased; his life was little more than pockets of rest, with nothing but death and battles in-between.

Much like Hawke’s, he thought, and paled when he realized he truly had come to care for the man, for him to occupy his thoughts so entirely.

No. There was still some liquor in the cabinets in the manor. He could get drunk without witnesses.

And he would get drunk. Rip-roaringly drunk. For days, preferably. Perhaps he could numb the memories until they didn’t hurt.

He barely got out of the tavern before he found himself chuckling humorlessly. He knew very well that pain didn’t numb so easily.

* * *

Fenris sat alone in the corner of The Hanged Man. While Danarius’ drink could certainly make a man drunk, sitting alone with it did little for his mood. Not to say coming to the bar these past few days did anything to improve it, but, as they said, misery loved company. Though any attempt by anyone to speak to or antagonize him since he’d heard the news of the expedition’s fate had been met with violent response. These days, he did little more than mope and search for a fight. He’d battled more bandits and thugs in the past week than he had at Hawke’s side, and that was saying more than it should.

Isabela had tried to speak to him for days, with no success. Aveline had come to speak with him, as well, but had quickly turned away in disgust. She had been the one to speak with Hawke’s family. To tell them both Hawke and his younger brother had been lost to the Deep Roads. He imagined it had been painful for Hawke’s mother to bear.

He hadn’t even realized he’d begun to rely on Hawke. A mage, and here he was pining over him like a lost child. Pathetic. He stood up, anger rushing through him all over again, only for the door of the tavern to bang open. “Hey, everybody! Who missed me?”

Fenris stared. Varric Tethras, his clothing covered with dirt and grime and what looked to be a very large amount of dried blood, stepped into the tavern as if he’d been gone but a few hours. Back from the dead.

He wasn’t the only one who stared at the walking corpse, but he was the first to react.

He stormed over to the dwarf and glared down at him. “Where’s Hawke?” he asked.

Varric blinked up at him. “Wow, Broody. Nice to see you, too.”

“Where,” he asked, teeth gritted, “is he?” There was a lot of blood, but not enough for a death wound. Had Hawke…? Was it too much to hope?

Varric pointed over his shoulder. “He’s with his family.” The dwarf’s voice went low. “His brother didn’t make it back–”

But Fenris was already moving. Varric spluttered something about leaving the family to their grief, but Fenris couldn’t care. He needed to see.

“What the hell?” Varric asked, speaking to himself. The dwarf moved out of his way – a wise choice.

Fenris wrenched open the tavern door just as he heard Isabela say, “we heard some news about your group…”

He slammed the door closed.

The trek to Hawke’s home was short, made even shorter by his hurried step. He ran up the stairs to the small, squat hole in Kirkwall’s maze-like walls, only to stop at the sound of a woman’s sobbing. The mother. He’d been unable to face her before, and found himself as trapped as he’d been the last few days. What could he, of all people, say or do to help this family? He was not a part of their group. He hardly knew them. He’d hardly known Hawke’s brother.

Hawke.

And there was his voice, just barely discernible through the stone. Fenris felt something sharp and painful release from his chest. It hurt. He stumbled back.

Alive. Hawke was alive.

He heard the family talking, heard Hawke’s mother say something, heard Hawke respond with a small, sad laugh. Then more sobbing.

Alive.

Fenris walked away.


End file.
